


A tribute to Viggo Mortensen

by LindaMaceMichalik



Series: Viggo Mortensen [1]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18383006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaMaceMichalik/pseuds/LindaMaceMichalik
Summary: A wide-eyed tribute to a creative artist





	A tribute to Viggo Mortensen

You offer a 'blood eagle' of your life -  
your cracked open ribs invite us to share

in your pain, your folly, your laughter;  
in your mundane times

and your brightest times, too.

Here, you drown me in delirium,

thrusting me into your vertiginous eyes-  
drunken, Danish gabbling,

electric guitar shrieks,

maybe a vibrating saw?

And then, you seduce me --  
Spanish guitar, Spanish words  
richer than Carmen!  
Envidia, what do you envy?  
I can't speak Spanish!

Now I'm lost in your photographs,  
no option 'cept to traverse all your pages.  
I randomly clutch at titles and fragments  
till, like an Infra Red spectrum, patterns emerge.  
I start to see, without logic -  
still don't like the streamers of light that you played with,  
but you put them there,  
must mean something,  
to you.

Photographs of Trees to Iceland?  
How generous!

And paintings, and scrawlings -  
some words on their own,  
others embedded,  
some, excavated,  
from under the paint,

CDs of your poems to music,  
your music to words, words to song  
born of kith and kin's music-making.

I can see it -  
your ghost,  
within the lake's foam!

Gone!

Departed, into your source,  
you’ve emptied yourself.  
You've gone walk-about!

Returned, you shuck your skin from off of your flesh and bones.  
You hang your own carcass on a hook, in the cupboard, for the duration  
and, with infinite care, like handling 15-dernier stockings,  
you unroll your skin over the meat of your film's persona.

 

Their speech is your speech,  
their bearing is the way that you sit, move and stand.  
Theirs is your history -  
their mother gave birth to you  
and you were the child that she raised.

You disappear and re-incarnate  
as a -  
Russian, a Spaniard,  
a Numenorean , and .....

Now I am DESPERATE to find the man!

Watch me claw your work aside.  
Who & what are you?

Doucement madame!  
Quench frenzy to caring!  
The Man belongs to himself alone!  
Desist from digging!

What he eviscerates,  
the entrails he grinds to paint onto his canvas,  
his sad tales, the passion he puts out there,  
they are his alone to select.  
They are Good  
and they are sufficient.

"By his works, you shall know him!"

Amen then!

I choose to leave a shy man to his privacy  
and offer him

my whole-hearted thanks.


End file.
